


Trust That The Numbers Can Lie

by wyntirrose



Series: Speedwriting Ficlets [4]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntirrose/pseuds/wyntirrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prowl's numbers are predicting a fourty-eight percent chance of doom, but Smokescreen knows that Prowl's only seeing what he fears the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust That The Numbers Can Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "Setting: A Waiting Room" for the tf_speedwriting community over on livejournal.

Smokescreen entered the quiet waiting room of the med bay, optics coming to rest on the room's sole occupant. Without a word the psychologist approached Prowl and offered him a cube of energon.

Prowl looked at the offered fuel, optics cycling as he tried to focus. After a long moment, he put aside his data pad and accepted the cube.

"Thank you." his voice was low and rough, betraying his exhaustion.

Smokescreen sat beside his fellow Praxian and smiled slightly. "No problem, mech. I figured that you wouldn't have refueled and that with Jazz off on mission ..." He trailed off with a shrug of his doors.

Prowl nodded after a moment and slowly sipped the fuel, ignoring the grinding of his tank as the energon hit his system. It was clear that the lead tactician was running on fumes.

"You know he's going to be okay, right?" Smokescreen asked gently. "We have some of the best medics in the galaxy here and there is no way that Jack and Aid will let Ratch offline."

Prowl sighed and turned to look at the other Praxian. "Actually, I do not know that. Given the severity of his injuries there is a greater than forty-eight point six five per cent chance that they will not be able to stabilize his systems before his leaks out."

Smokescreen placed a comforting hand on Prowl's thigh and squeezed lightly. "Okay, first off that means that there's a fifty-one per cent chance that they will be able to save him just fine, and second, we both know that this situation isn't dictated by strict percentages. There are a ton of variables that you can't plan for or even begin to expect. Ratchet _will_ be fine."

The black and white enforcer leveled a hard gaze at the psychologist.

"Forty-eight point six five chance that he leaks out, eighty-three point nine two percent chance that his backups fail to take over if they do succeed in stabilizing his fuel-pump, twenty-nine point eight percent chance plus or minus ten that he suffers from irreparable loss of functionality as a result of taking that shot from Megatron, sixty-nine point-"

"Okay, stop," Smokescreen said sharply, cutting Prowl off mid-rant. "Life isn't black and white Prowl. Trust me, life isn't defined by numbers and percentages and odds. Sometimes the house loses and this is one of those situations. You have to have faith that between Wheeljack and First Aid that Ratchet is in the best possible hands and that he _will_ pull through."

Prowl shook his head and stood sharply, ignoring that he sent his data pad skittering across the floor. "Smokescreen, I know that you mean well, but you are profoundly biased in this. You are involved with Wheeljack, so, of course you will believe the best of him. But I don't have the luxury of relying of faith and hoping that your gambler's fallacy will work in my favour."

"This isn't a gambler's fallacy, Prowl," Smokescreen said as he leaned back in the chair, watching the other Praxian pace the room. "I don't in any way believe that we are owed this, nor do I believe that we are due for good luck here. I'm just stating facts, pure and simple. Neither of us are medics, neither of us has all the facts, but what we do have is-"

"Don'!" Prowl snapped. "Don't say it! Do not tell me that I just have to have faith and that everything will be fine! You did not see Ratchet fall! You were not the one desperately trying to keep his chest closed until First Aid and Wheeljack could get there! You did not hear Megatron gloating about how he had killed another medic!" Prowl's voice cracked as he lost control of his emotions.

In an instant, Smokescreen was at his side, ready to catch the 2IC when he finally collapsed under his own grief. "Prowl, I-"

"No! Do not tell me that you understand. Every time Wheeljack has blown himself up it was Ratchet who pulled him back together, so no, you do not understand. Ratchet is not able to perform surgery on himself, and therefore the situations are nothing similar!"

Prowl shook his head, his optics whitening as his doors drooped. "He is my mate, Smokescreen. He is my mate and he is the best medic we have. If he offlines we won't be able to function. ... _I_ won't be able to function ..." This last was whispered as he started to sink to the floor.

Smokescreen caught the tactician and sank down with him, pulling Prowl close and humming softly.

"Prowl, sometimes we can't trust the numbers. Sometimes the numbers lie and only confirm what we want to here. Or in this case, they confirm what we fear the most. I can counter every one of your statistics with an equally compelling ones that disprove all of their so-called truths." Smokescreen said quietly.

"... what will I do if he dies?" Prowl asked in a low, broken voice. He leaned into Smokescreen, shivering as his emotions took over and his logical subsystems failed him.

"He won't. Trust me. Trust that Wheeljack will not let him die. And trust that Ratchet is tougher than that. He's not going to be taken out by Megatron. He's not going to be taken out at all," Smokescreen said softly, stroking Prowl's helm with gentle fingers and humming an old Praxian lullaby.

After a long moment Prowl's shivering lessened and he nodded, unconsciously leaning further into the embrace, exhaustion taking over.

Just then, the doors to the surgery opened and Wheeljack entered. He took in the sight and shot a concerned look at Smokescreen. The psychologist shook his head, dismissing the need for aid with a small smile to his mate.

"How is he?" Smokescreen asked, trying hard not to brace for bad news.

"He'll be fine, Prowl," Wheeljack said with a smile clear in his helm indicators. "It was a little touch and go for a moment, but he pulled through and he's going to be just fine. Why don't you go get some recharge and I'll comm you when Ratch is online?"

Prowl stiffened slightly at the news, obviously trying to pull himself back together. "That is excellent news Wheeljack, but I believe that I will remain here. I want to be available when Ratchet onlines."

Smokescreen bit back the sigh that threatened to escape and helped the other Praxian to his feet.

"Come on, Prowl. You need to refuel and recharge. You just had a mild breakdown and you need to rest it off so you can properly reboot. Come on, I promise that Jack will let you know the second Ratch starts to come out of recharge," he said in a low, soothing voice. At the look of rebellion of Prowl's face he added, "I can make it an order, Prowl."

"You don't outrank me, Smokescreen," Prowl replied. "But I am not sure that I am in the mood to argue the point."

"Good," Smokescreen said, as he guided the 2IC from the room, flashing a smile of thanks to Wheeljack. It was a smile that promised a better thank you later.


End file.
